Electrocuted: Fly on the Wall

 

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?

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?

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.

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.

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?

 

I didn't know which item he was referring to, so I checked my text to him:

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.

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.

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: 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.

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:

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border 

What TF Sarah

Cinnamon Pastry Ice Cream (no churn)

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

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.

*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.

The Briefcase Stalemate: 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! 

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Halloween was just a few weeks after my last Fly on the Wall post. I've mentioned a few times that I'd had a couple of surgical procedures to my face and was feeling self-conscious. 

So for giving out candy to the kids on Halloween, I'd put on more makeup than I do most days. And I got the kindest compliment. Almost.

A young teenager made a comment when I was handing her candy:

Trick or Treater: Wow, your make up looks great.

Me (smiling, feeling pretty for the first time in a long time): That's so nice of you to say. Thank you.

Trick or Treater: I don't know how you did it, but those scars on your face look so real.

We had a ton of trick or treaters this year, over 150. All adorable, most really polite.

I like how many of the parents of the really young kids, like 4 years old and under, came up close to the door, reminding their children of their manners, teaching them to say "thank you."

But I did admonish one father for falling down on his teaching responsibilities.

His child, probably right around 4 years old, didn't have a bag, but held out his hand for the treat, which I gave to him.

Little Boy (loudly and with glee): I got a candy!

Me (looking disapprovingly at the dad): Well, that is the whole point . . .

A boy came by, a young teenager, wearing a baseball uniform, the Texas Rangers. Poor kid, not one we knew, so he'd have no way of knowing whose lived here.

And, obviously wasn't quite used to my sense of humor either.

Me (handing him a candy): If that were a Red Sox uniform, I would have given you two.

Boy: {{blink, blink}}

Me: But then if it had been a Yankees uniform, I would have given you none.

He never did say anything. But I'm guessing he's gonna skip my house next year.

Speaking of the Yankees . . .

College Boy buys and sells limited release and rare albums. He appreciates most genres of music, but his favorites are hop hop and rap. Enmeshed in the genre, he follows many mostly unknown but extremely talented underground artists.

One of his absolute favorites, KA, produces his own albums and pretty much only sells them in a one day pop up store in NYC. In the end of September, KA released his newest work, and College Boy actually flew to NYC for the weekend to go to the pop up. He met up with a number of other fans from all over the country he knew from online communities, and a few who live in NY.

One of the NY residents rented bicycles for the group and showed them around the city. As they were going by, he pointed out Yankee stadium.

Friend: That's Yankee Stadium, it's almost the end of the season, but we could catch a game if you guys want.

College Boy: Not me, my mom would kill me.

And I would!

PS: I have a lot to say about KA, about College Boy and his trip to NYC, and the connections he made. Maybe one day I'll write about it, but that time isn't now. 

To KA's wife Mimi, his mother, sister, and all the fans who love him:

"May you live a nice long life, hope it's beautiful."

I had tried out a new recipe, Fudgy Peppermint Rounds. When Hubs walked through the kitchen, I had them on the counter and on the table, setting up different options for picture taking. Not at all unusual. When I was done, of course, I cleaned up and put everything away.

Later that day, Hubs walks in the kitchen:

Hubs: Where are your balls?

Me: Is this a game? I'll show you mine . . .

Fudgy Peppermint Rounds

Hubs came home from work, changed his clothes, and went back out to the garage. He was there a while. When he came in, I asked what he had been doing. 

Hubs: I put my briefcase on the floor behind the driver's seat and the briefcase zipper got stuck on the netting on the cargo pocket behind the seat.

Me: Did you get it off?
Hubs: No, and I don't want to cut the netting, I'll work on it after dinner.

After dinner I asked him if he wanted me to take a look at it. Once I realized that the netting was caught, not in the teeth of the zipper, but the top of the zipper. I got it unhooked pretty easily.

Hubs: Thanks, I probably would have been out there for hours.

Me: You're welcome.

And he was welcome until a few hours later when we were arguing over . . . pretty much nothing.

Me: I have to win this argument, you owe me. 

Hubs: What do you mean I owe you?

Me: If it weren't for me, you'd still be in the back seat of the car, bent up like a pretzel, trying to release your briefcase.

Hubs: Yeah, but there's another way to look at it.

Me: Oh?

Hubs: If you hadn't gotten my briefcase unstuck, I'd still be out there and we never would have had this argument. So it's your fault we're even arguing at all.

I thought I'd had an easy win, but turns out I got caught up in a briefcase stalemate.

 

My generation, well, me anyway, have a hard time keeping up with technology. Getting the hang of something that's new can take time.

My mom recently finally gave up her landline and although she's had a cell phone forever. she never texted. Now she does. Well, she's trying anyway.

She hadn't been feeling well, so I texted her the next morning.

Me: How was last night? Did you sleep?

Mom: Feeling much better. Should be discharged soon.

Me: Discharged?

Mom: Meaning I will not need her any more.

Me: I think you have my sister and I confused. I missed the whole "discharged" conversation.

Mom: It's under your name. Anyway, I said she thinks I'm almost done.

Me: I don't know who she is and what you're almost done with. If nothing else, this conversation would make a very funny Abbot and Costello routine.

Me: The nurse was here. Has been taking care of the cut on my leg.

Me: Oh, that explains a lot.

As I said, she's trying.

Speaking of texts . . . 

Since College Boy buys so many albums, he gets a ton of packages, pretty much daily. 

Early one Tuesday morning before work, he sent me a text:

College Boy: Got this text this morning. Supposed to be from the post office. I'm not clicking on anything, pretty sure it's a scam, I'll look at it when I get to work.

Me: Ha, ha, ha, "Hope your day is filled with peace and productivity," sounds just like the USPS.

College Boy: Oh, lol, I hadn't even read through the whole thing yet.

I love teasing Hubs. He takes everything so literally, which makes it even more fun. 

He had gone in to work, but hadn’t planned on working the whole day. I thought he might be home around noon, but whatever, didn’t matter to me, he’d be home by dinner time. At around 2:00 he called me from his cell.

Hubs: Just letting you know, I’m getting gas.

Me: Thanks for the warning, stop and get some Beano or Gas-X on the way home.

Hubs: No, I meant . . .

All humor aside, as we all know, there was an election a few weeks ago.

I sat up all night long in horror, getting little if no sleep. The next morning, I really didn't know what to say, so I posted this to FB:

I'm exhausted and, honestly, I thought I'd have no words this morning, but I do have one. Ashamed.

Now, of course, time has passed and I've been able to internalize some of the ramifications, and consequences of 4 more years of chaos, bigotry, and hatred and I have more words. Many more words, but we'll leave it at that. Ashamed.

 

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

Menopausal Mother 

On the Border

Fudgy Peppermint Rounds

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 large box (24 oz) Little Debbie Fudge Rounds

35 starlight mints hard candies

about 20 oz candy melts, chocolate, red, or pink

Directions:
*Unwrap the fudge rounds and crush in a bowl.

*Crush 5 of the mints and set aside for topping. Crush the remaining 30 mints and add to the bowl with the fudge rounds. Mix.

*Using your hands, squeezing tightly so they stay together, form the crushed cookie/candy mixure into 36 balls. Place individually onto parchment paper and refrigerate for at least an hour. 

*Melt the candy melts in a bowl or mug according to package directions. Working quickly, place each ball onto a fork, dip into the candy melts to cover completely. Allow the excess to drip off, then using a knife, ease off of the fork onto parchment paper. Immediately, sprinkle with a little of the remaining crushed mints and allow to set.

*Note: wipe off the fork and the knife after dipping each ball. If the candy melts in the bowl start to harden, microwave for 15 - 20 seconds until it liquifies again.

Zig, Zag, Flee

It's not so much that I was hearing voices. I mean, that's not . . . you know . . . healthy. But, truth is, I wasn't. Healthy. Physically. 

Mentally, I was doing OK. A little depressed, a lot exhausted, but mostly OK. Well, except for the messages. 

Not auditory messages, visual. Delivered through a daily game I played. Seemingly mocking me at first, but later offering some pretty sound advice.

 

So, two things. The first one I'll give you the bare minimum in terms of information. Because I neither want to relive, nor will you want to hear all the gory details. And it was gory around here. 

Little by little, in the end of November through the middle of this month, we were sick. We being PurDude, (who was home from Boulder for 2 weeks for his brother's birthday, Thanksgiving, and Hanukkah), and then College Boy, and finally me.

PurDude's first morning here, he had respiratory symptoms. On his day 8, his brother exploded in the middle of the night, gastrointestinally. On day 11, I had respiratory distress and PurDude, still having his respiratory issues, was also exploding gastrointestinally. He went to an urgent care and they did lab work. All negative. He didn't have Covid, strep, flu, RSV . . . apparently, we were all suffering from . . . nothing.

 

Not to be deterred, I still made all the celebration meals, desserts, and snacks. So, at least I was functioning. And somehow it all got eaten. Whoever was well enough on any given day, ate whatever I'd made. Well, along with their jug of Gatorade.

Almond Cranberry Sauce Cookies

 

On day 15, with just some minor congestion, PurDude ran for his life, escaped, drove back to Boulder. Two days later, not to be left out, I joined the explosion party. And two days after that College Boy went for round two.

At the 3 week mark, everyone was pretty much better except for me, I was still coughing and congested.

Now the second thing: I play a lot of word games and post my results twice a day to my Baking In A Tornado Facebook page, where some friends there share their scores too. I wrote about it in Wordle, Nerdle, Curdle. I even wrote You Are What You Phrase, about the game Phrazle, which is the specific game choosing to mock me a few weeks ago.

I clicked on Phrazle this particular morning, PurDude was back in Colorado, College Boy was back at work but I, a week behind them, was still sick, and exhausted, and sad that our holiday celebrations were . . . how do I say this? . . . a shit fest. And although I was ready to play the game, figure out the elusive phrase of the day, I just kept saying to myself over and over again "how did this happen? How can we all be so sick with (according to the lab tests) absolutely nothing? Where did this come from?"

And there it was, the solution to the puzzle? Or a cosmic answer?

OK, that's just mean. Yeah, maybe we zigged when we should have zagged, but it's not like we had any warning. I mean, none of us are aware of having seen some big cloud of medical crud headed our way, so how could we have known to initiate evasive tactics?

Believe me, we would have. Zigged, zagged, or just flat out run for our lives.

The next day, since we clearly didn't zig, zag, or flee, Phrazle shared the only strategy left to me:

And the following day, I guess the advice was not to dwell on a ruined holiday season. Once I was better, apparently the puzzle gods recommended that I:

 

Finally, finally feeling just a little bit better, and hoping that with the illness was going the percieved subliminal messaging, I got to the Phrazle portion of my daily game routines. Hoping against hope, but afraid to look in the mirror, I wondered if I was starting to look human again. Seems Phrazle had reverted to snarky:

Oh, and btw, were you wondering about Hubs? Bet you can guess who it was who'd been tending to the boys while they were exploding. Well, let's just say this: Hubs . . . perfectly fine, from start to finish, not so much as one single wayward sneeze, dammit.

Almond Cranberry Sauce Cookies         

                                                                                      ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients: 

2 sticks butter, softened

1 1/4 cups sugar

1/2 cup jellied cranberry sauce, room temperature

1/4 tsp almond extract

1 egg, room temperature

2 1/2 cups flour

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

3/4 cup white chocolate chips

1/4 cup sliced almonds, chopped

Directions:
*Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cover baking sheets with parchment paper.

*Cream the butter, sugar, cranberry sauce, and almond extract until smooth. Beat in the egg.

*Starting at the lowest speed, beat in the flour, baking soda, and salt until it forms a dough. Mix in the white chocolate chips and chopped sliced almonds.

*Bake for 11 - 13 minutes, until the edges start to brown. Allow to sit on the baking sheets for 2 minutes before removing to cool completely.