What is normal, anyhow?

They say a picture is worth a thousand words and that is true.  The first photo is the big oak that fell across my wild flower garden, and destroyed the lilac and another lovely bush.  No power for 4 days, then a day of scrambling to do laundry, run the dishswasher, etc., and the freakin' Internet went out completely or slowed down to a molasses in January crawl. 

The second photo is on Long Island where the foxes lived.  Three at one blow.  

After Irene, we were troopers, out scouting for ice, scouting for Wi-Fi and "D" Batteries, a rare commodity.  The wind rose at 6:30 Sunday morning and I jumped out of bed and made a batch of pesto genovese.  Ran the dish washer, and settled down to watch the storm on CNN.  At 10:30 a.m., before the storm actually hit us, the lights went out, not to be seen again until Wednesday night.  As bad as Hurricane Gloria in 1985. 

We have a gas stove and since I am squeamish about pilot lights, I lit the gas with big long fireplace matches.  Gas also meant hot water to hand wash dishes in, and hot showers, all Good Things. 

For Sunday dinner we had a delicious orzo salad with olive, anise, eggplant and zucchini.  By Monday the steak in the downstairs freezer was beginning to defrost so we had two nights of shish kebabs on the grill with lots of nice veggies.  By Tuesday, the chicken was thawing and I cooked a huge amount of chicken breasts for -- you guessed it chicken pesto.  I also cooked some chicken tenders a la chicken parm and we ate those one night.  We had the presence of mind to finish the ice cream on Sunday. 

During the storm, the hummingbirds were swooping around like crazy and they actually drank all their nectar.  All the birds were very interested in the fallen tree, and the thistle seed feeder and 2nd suet feeder were practically dragging the ground, but the birds immediately found these feeders and like the cozy feeling of being incased in leaves.

Of course some big mean hawk showed up, but I don't think he caught anyone.  When I went out early Monday morning to bring in the paper, a turtle dove was sitting on the front porch, looking  a wee bit lost.  My garden proper was relatively undamaged and the flowers did like the rain, and the cucumbers kept us supplied with salad. 

We fed the cows and the calves were leaping all over the pasture and having  a great time.  S.O. took a movie which i will post.  The Muscovy ducks that hang out with the cows have two cute ducklings.    The rooster crows every morning and we do realize we live in a neighborhood where there is still "agriculture."  Hooray for agriculture.

I will post again soon now that the lights and the Internet are back.  Reading by candlelight is no fun, but we did have 5 flashlights, 2 camp lanterns, a hurricane lantern, and 16 candles.   We just cursed the darkness a little bit.  Saw The Help and The Debt, both good.  Movies are a wonderful way to spend an evening when your house is darker than a tomb.

We aren't eating any chicken this week, no siree.  Total O.D. on chicken.  Hamburgers and pork tenderloin and yummy swordfish.  Even during the storm, life was good and it was lovely sitting on the deck for days and just watching the birds, squirrels and chipmunks.  Hardly anything beats watching the birds.  Well, maybe the Red Sox.

As Ever,

Grapeshot

We are blessed that Earl was a bust

Inland, not much going on in the way of a hurricane or even lashing rain and wind.  Just gentle rain last night.  A few already brown leaves on the lawn this a.m.  I did all the laundry yesterday and made sure to run the dishwasher, so if we lost power I would be THAT much ahead.  Now, I've got to carry all the plants back outside.  At least the scented geranium is repotted.

Yesterday when we fed the Highland Scottish cows they were very frisky.  I wonder if they felt the storm coming.  This morning the birds are gone.  Where did THEY hunker down?  Cats did not appear to notice anything.  They mostly notice food, grooming, catnip and each other (jealously).  The orange cat insisted on being brushed when I was trying to get the lumps of fur off Thisbe's lower back.  I think she is too fat to bathe back there.  Life's little dramas.

Beautiful fresh morning.  Ah, they should all be like this.  So thanks, Earl, for bringing a welcome rain and not much else.  Down the road, the golf tourney proceeds apace and the Red Sox play twice today.

Spicy fried rice for dinner.  Another great recipe where the whole is much greater than the sum of the parts.
Try this recipe

Cooking  never ceases to amaze me.  Open-faced plum tart for dessert.  We can't find any prune plums this year.  WTF?  I know they're in season, but the stores don't have them.  Lots of Italians in Boston, too.   WHERE ARE THE ITALIAN PRUNE PLUMS?   Inquiring minds want to know.  How can I make my beautiful tart?

Onward to more writing.   This is the most difficult ending yet.

The MAN burns tonight. www.burningman.com  Ah, to be there, on the Playa in the shadow of the Black Rock, with the drums, fire dancers, craziness.  Zowie!

Grapeshot                                       

Thursday is Fish Taco Night

Somebody made fish tacos on the food channel.  Thought it was Guy, but maybe not.  Couldn't find the recipe, but I did find separate recipes for the beer batter, the chipotle mayo and of course, the tacos themselves.  Bought fresh cod today at Roche Brother.  Practically drooling all day.  Garnished with cabbage, of course, in the south of the border Ensenada way. 

Making cherry clafouti tomorrow.  We'll have steak and cabbage soup with the rest of the cabbage.   Trying to be frugal.  Always a challenge.  We fed the Scottish Highland Cattle lots of citrus rind and (very tasty) melon rinds.   Article in the NY Times about what nice lean beef they make, and grass fed too.  I would never eat beef again if I had to eat those sweet cattle.  Not sweet to teach other.  Old Maggie was lying down in the pasture, and finally got up to see what special treats I had.  She looks preggers.   One can only hope for a sweet calf, which we have been without for almost a year.  I have calf deprivation.

Iris in the pasture.  She is currently molting.

Arepas gone wild

In Wednesday's New York Times, the Minimalist had a Venezuelan recipe for arepas that looked incredibly yummy. I had all the ingredients except scallions and a jalapeno, so after the weekly shopping trip I took out the recipe and got going.

Something not right. In spite of accurate measuring, the batter was still kind of runny. After the required 15 minute wait, I couldn't form into balls. Still runny. Formed into pancake like patties and refrigerated for a couple hours. No way are these things going to come out splittable like English muffins. Cooked like pancakes. Fairly tasty, but I should NOT have removed the seeds and ribs from the jalapeno. And only made 6, not 8-10. I ate 2, S.O. ate the rest.

Served with some on-sale pulled pork that was too, too, sweet. What is it with present-day taste buds and sugar? Naturally we ate everything with enjoyment, because the arepas were fairly tasty.

I came down to the computer, sure that the proportions were wrong, or even the ingredients. All the recipes called for a special "arepas" corn meal. I just had plain old supermarket.

Idea is till intriguing. I think if I put half again as much corn meal and maybe a teaspoon of baking powder, things would be much better. And all the seeds and pith from the hot pepper.

Ye gods! A jalapeno (sorry but I am too lazy to look for the accent mark) only costs 18 cents.

So tonight we're having tacos. My tacos are awesome.

Fed the cows this a.m. and the three newest ones came running. I always think of the movie title, Some Came Running.

We tried to watch Quantum of Solace last night and found it beyond stupid and nothing but chase scenes. After half an hour I pushed the eject button. Hoping "In Bruges" will be better.

Can't win 'em all, recipes and movies. Querying agents like mad, since this is Burning Man week and my book is mostly set there, yada yada.

For the arepas recipe and lots of fun comments, follow this linke
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/02/dining/02mini.html?_r=1

Grapeshot

They're Baaaack!

The birds are back, as mysteriously as they left. With a turtle dove added. The flock of robins is happy in the cow pasture. I fed the cows the last scraps of fruits and veggies this morning. There's a new young cow (half-grown) bringing the little herd up to five. Iris and Maggie are still rambunctious.

It seems like a week that I've been getting ready to leave, longer than that if you calculate pants hemmed, dry cleaning, lists, cat care and all that good stuff.

The cats know something is up and are bearing up pretty well. Always sad when one's adult's desert one for an unknown period of time. I feel sorry for Thisbe, so sad and sensitive.

My writing group isn't crazy about the last scene. In a sense, it's become drudgery. Last week was fun. Rewriting in store. I'm just feeling my way through the novel, even though I know what's going to happen.

I should hear from a publisher, an agent and ABNA while I'm gone. Could there be good news? Maybe the census will call and tell us we're hired.

Or will sucking it up be required yet again?

Back on the 20th. Stay tuned.

Writing and Other Occupations

I haven't been posting as regularly as I might, because I've actually been getting books ready to send out to agents and editors. In other words, not sucking it up quite as much as usual. Takes a lot of time to re-edit an entire manuscript and print it. Staples had a BOGO on paper this week, so now we have a year's supply. We applied to work on the census, and I wrote a press release for my Toastmaster's club. Had a dinner party. Cooked and then cooked some more. Got ready to enter a novel in the Amazon/ABNA contest. The good thing about having novels backed up waiting to sell is that you really stay busy flogging them. (I love Britishisms) .

It's taking more time to manage my so-called "retirement" than I thought. This would be the stuff of an article were I so inclined.

Today I joined Authonomy and put World of Mirrors (first 6 chapters) up on it. These sites where everyone sucks up for votes and comments, comments, comments make me a little nervous, geeky hermit type that, au fond, I am.

Speaking of au fond, I'm working on my fish story again, and finally found the site for the conclusion. Man, this has been work. Poor Francis. He's been through the mill. I do love my characters, even the non-human ones.

Iris, the Scottish Highland Mama has a big gore in her side. I think the gorer was Maggie. They are both somewhat obstreperous, and Iris has been beside herself since her calf was sent away. Don't know what Maggie's problem is. I climb up on the snowbank and throw the scraps over the fence. We buy cheap bread (hard to find nowadays) and feed the ducks on the way home from the store. Can you believe Wonder Bread costs over three dollars? I was appalled at paying $4.00 for a superior loaf of bread, but maybe that's not even a bad price.

Tomorrow, we will again partake of our tradition of having meatloaf for the SuperBowl. Meatloaf is easy to eat if you're watching TV. Doesn't have to be cut, no messy gravy, you know. Is a ritual also a myth? Inquiring minds want to know. Is a tradition a ritual? I know someone who puts the flag up and has a big rigamarole before every Patriots game. Is that a tradition, a ritual or just foolishness?

So, tradition or ritual, meatloaf it is. I'm not making my complicated meatloaf, but the simple one my mother taught me. I use oatmeal instead of cracker crumbs. Chacun a son gout.

I've been searching through my mom's old photographs and looking at the ones from the summer she went to school at Emporia State Teacher's College. Looks like she and her little gang had a wonderful summer. No TV, No electronics, no booze, no smokes, maybe no guys, but the girls had fun. No city and no sex. Probably a curfew. They almost always wore summer dresses. Not too flapperish, but sorta. It is just so hard to put my 21st century self back to 1926. Young Girls in Flower. Proust had it right.

As ever,

Grapeshot

National Book Award Nominees

No genre writers here, but some good reading.

Fiction
Roberto Bolano, 2666
Marilynne Robinson, Home
Aleksandar Hemon, The Lazarus Project
M. Glenn Taylor, The Ballad of Trenchmouth Taggart
Elizabeth Strout, Olive Kittredge

Nonfiction
Dexter Filkins, The Forever War
Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the Civil War
Jane Mayer, The Dark Side
Allan Lichtman, White Protestant Nation
George C. Herring, From Colony to Superpower: US Foreign Relations Since 1776


Other categories are biography, memoir, children's literature and what have you. Love that "what have you" category.

Last night I was making a final, final pass through Festival Madness, coming up to the exciting conclusion, when I discovered and I had written in an 8 day week. Two Thursdays, each with important events. Holy Freakin' Crap! How did I manage that?

Did some slight of hand with moving some events to an afternoon, some to the next morning, and pouf! seven days a week. I'm still chopping out words, 2,000 + so far this pass, down maybe 7,000 from when the novel was completed. Yowza! No fun in that at all, but I'm always amazed at the fact that I actually wrote this, and that is seems to be a good read, and that I get so caught up in the story toward the end that I forget to look for words to cut. How can this be? I mean, I wrote it. Why does it still seem exciting?

Heap big mystery.

We fed the cows yesterday, and poor Iris. who granted, is sometimes a bully, had a gore wound in her side. Wonder if the farmer knows. The cows, who had no hay, were so happy to see us, and I had half a loaf of bread (better than none, ha! ha!) and two big bags of fruit and veggie scraps. Yum!

The bottom fell out of the fullest bag and I can to scrabble around in the icy snow to retrieve the goodies.

Love those cows.

Grapeshot

Writing, Not Blogging

Lots of writing this week and last. The fish story, still incomplete but getting there, and now I've had to cudgel Festival Madness into a even better shape. Nothing like real feedback to help a writer. A nice agent gave me some feedback which actually agreed with something an editor said, so I'm making the umpteenth pass through the novel, cutting out more words and attempting to give one of the characters a bit more gravitas, as it were.

Next month I have to write a speech, and whatever happened to the long cold wintry days when there wasn't much to do?

We applied to work on the 2010 Census and took the test today. The sample questions were easy but not all the test questions were slam dunks by any means. I tried to remember the last time I took a test and couldn't. Even the classes I've taken, both writing and technical have not had actual tests. I believe test-taking is a skill like many others, a skill that can become rusty from disuse. We did just fine on the test. Now comes the background check and that sort of thing.

On Tuesday, I was glued to the TV all day and all night. Yowsa! What a great historic event. Saved all the newspapers. By now I have a huge Obama collection and a gazillion emails, too.

All by way of excuse for not doing much blogging. Busy. Busy. How doth the busy little bee?
Some house finches and exotic looking sparrows at the feeder today. Feeding birds, cows, cats, it never ends.

The herd of eight cows is suddenly down to four. Mary Ann's baby was shipped off and now Mary Ann is gone, too. The only "regulars" are Iris and Maggie. So sad. The problem is, I bond with the cows. A little weird to be sure, but true.

Back to my novel.

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The New Year Lurches In Like A Zombie

Recovering from houseguests. Laundry. Leftovers. Lethargy. The 3 L's? After the laundry comes the ironing of napkins and pillowcases. Sheets can tend to themselves.

What is better than a meat pie? I had LOTS of leftover pork tenderloin. Cut it into bite-sized cubes, browned in butter with some scallions and garlic, sprinkled with flour and roast-beef seasoning (go figure) and added some stock mixed with a bit of white wine. Tossed in lots of chopped parsley and a couple big spoonsful of sour cream. Stir like crazy. Tossed in a bit of leftover rice since I had no potatoes, and a few cooked baby carrots and some frozen peas. Put a Pillsbury ready-made pie crust on top and cooked in a hot oven until the crust was brown.

We ate it last night and tonight. Yum!

Today was the day to exchange some presents at Macy's. I have to tell you that if everyone in the city and suburbs of Boston bought a bra and some panties at Macy's in South Shore Plaza, there would still be plenty for the people in Providence. Sheeesh! Never have I seen so much underwear, so many pj's. People, there are also a lot of really ugly clothes out there. Kohl's had some in the kids dept. and Macy's had some in the women's dept. Ugly. Ugly. Probably everyone could buy something ugly and the store would still have . . . well, you know.

We had a frugal lunch at Au Bon Pain. I noticed with sorrow that the tarragon chicken sandwich was not on the menu, nor was the Florentine tomato soup. Alas, alas. S.O. had broccoli cheddar soup and I scarfed down a spicy tuna sandwich. Lunch for two for $13.00 with lemonade is not bad. Some places a glass of wine would cost that much.

Hit the Body Shop for soap and foot cream and other sundries. The Body Shop rocks.

On the Scottish Highland Cattle front, the young black bull is gone, which must mean the freaked out pregnant cow is in residence. I fed them yesterday--three bags of fruit and veggie scraps. The grapefruit rinds from 4 people filled a whole bag.

I made apricot bars today. Hope they aren't overly sweet like the last batch. Current recipes can way overdo the sugar.

Promiscuous Mode received another rejection today. I am back in my drug lord's head, which is not a bad place to be as he daydreams of Cali and Cartagena.

Onward,



Grapeshot

Lemmings 'R Us

Nothing is more exasperating that to discover you have this huge herd instinct. Yesterday, the forecast for New Year's Eve was not encouraging, and I thought rather than trek into Boston in bad weather, we could opt for a visit to the Museum of Science today. It's Tuesday, a nothing kind of day, right, and sure, kids are out of schools, but so what?

Naturally, we got a late start and arrived at the museum around 12:30. Pandemonium. There must have been 10,000 kids and parents and strollers and ye gods, the noise. No one was screaming, or anything, in fact I actually did not hear a kid cry all day, but there were so freakin' many of them. The IMAX was sold out until 4:00 p.m.

We saw the cool "monsters" exhibit, ate a bit of lunch. The pizza line was ENDLESS, so most of us opted for the salad bar which had no wait. We visited the Planetarium for the first time, and of course all the adults fell asleep. Soothing music, darkness, after lunch with no coffee. Zzzzzz. How fine it was.

We got out of there around 3:30, and of course, in true lock step with the HERD, the rush hour had begun. 93 South was a parking lot, and we opted for the Pike which was fine.

Speaking of herds, the obstrerperous and pregnant young cow that was jumping the fence and misbehaving last week is not in the pasture. Hope she's in the barn or a shed or somewhere besides back where she came from. Of course if Iris's baby returned, I would be very happy. Maggie and the young black bull seemed to be bonding yesterday, and I wanted to say, "listen here, that's your grandson!" but she's a cow.

Every now and then a recipe comes along that is so fine one makes it forever. Breast Budapest, is such a find. Sounds like something the old Gabor sisters might have concocted.

It came from Perdue when their thin-sliced cutlets first appeared in the supermarket, and recipes were included to give the cook a leg up. The cutlets were kind of pricey, and I can understand why Perdue wanted to popularize them.

Breast Budapest is sauteed-in-butter chicken breast in a delicious goulash sauce, heavy on the cream. Is it ever good. We had it tonight with bow tie pasta, and peas and carrots. Yum!! If I can scare up the recipe on the Net I'll post the link.

So now we're still without plans for New Year's Eve, the most over-rated holiday of all. The best one I ever had was at a party in the Adolphus Hotel in Dallas before the Cotton Bowl. Zowie.

Grapeshot, regretfully just one of the herd.

No luck on the recipe, but you get some odd hits if you Google Breast Budapest.

Four Uses for an Olde Pumpkin

4) Hollow out and use as a soup tureen

3) A Stool for a very small person (remove stem first)

2) Roll down into the slough for the critters to gnaw on

1) Cut into smallish pieces and feed to the Scottish Highland Cattle

Most years we opt for 2 (roll down the hill toward the slough), but this year we had a big pumpkin which had never been carved, i.e., a pristine pumpkin. S.O. chopped it up and put it into a big bag and we drove over to see our buddies with two bags of fruit and vegetable scraps, including ultra-yum organic carrot tops, and the large bag of pumpkin pieces.

Something weird with the cows. The four moms (Maggie, Iris, Mary Ann and Crooked Horn) were in the pasture, and the other 7 (various babies, half-grown and adult) cows were in the corral.

We drove to the pasture, and gave the four moms a feast. There was LOTS of bawling and mooing from the corral--they must have figured it out and wanted some, too.

In the photo, Iris comes running for a treat.

The cows loved the pumpkin, but we had so much we saved 2/3 for another feast, when everyone can partake. I bet eleven can chomp down that pumpkin in no time.

Writing Bad Guys

One loves one's literary characters and doesn't want anything bad to happen to them. I am really starting to like my Columbian Drug Lord, as I flesh him out. He sees himself as a businessman with "product" and all of these disasters descend on him--supposedly loyal employees skimming money, a missing laptop, employees swimming at the shallow end of the gene pool, bad luck, smart opponents, a greedy girlfriend, huge outlays of cash for his little submarine fleet, and this woman who has disappeared, a woman who has caused him so much grief, a woman who needs to be killed. But where the hell is she? He has a grudging respect for her, and she for him. Throughout the book they will be doing this dance. I love the way he cusses and views the world and what he really wants, which is to go home to Cartagena. But of course he can't. Life is complicated. For all of us.

Tonight I took the scraps of chicken (some pretty big scraps) and made a tasty chicken pot pie with homemade crust, again the food processor recipe which takes one minute and rolls out like a dream. I had chicken fat left over, and all the savory pan juices, garlicky and lemony and chickeny. I bought a few mushrooms, but the peas, carrots, celery and onion came from the fridge. There was one problem. So good we couldn't stop eating. Not a good thing. About a million calories. Thank the lord I didn't add any heavy cream as the Food Network recipe called for. The recipe made enough for three, so there is a lunch to die for in the fridge.

We have been very busy getting ready for the mystery conference, the New England Crime Bake, and I've done mail merges for labels, which I have to relearn every time I do them, although I hope that I'll remember at least enough to do the Christmas card labels. Doing the mail merge is NOT like riding a bicycle. You forget practically everything.

Late fall is here. The colors are mostly drab and there are more leaves on the ground than on the trees. I put the acorn squash seeds outside for the critters and fed the Highland Scottish cattle their fruit and veggie scraps. The little herd has increased by four new cows with tags in their ears. A second bull has been added. Everyone seems to be getting along. They liked the acorn squash skin and the grapefruit rind and the apple cores. Banana skins always popular. We have taken recycling to a new level.

More anon.

Grapeshot

Hideous Carnage

Drove by the cow's pasture after my workout to see where they were, and on the road leading to the pasture there was evidence of road kill, including a mallard duck, not normally seen as a roadside victim. On my way out, I looked again at the duck and then at the yucky mess a few yards away. Ye gods, it was a fox, and then of course the story unfolded, which was either the fox chasing the duck and not watching for traffic or the fox, having caught the duck not watching for traffic or some version of the story of the fox and the duck. This is Foxborough, to be sure.

I don't like to see wildlife, esp. a nice red fox destroyed, nor do I like to consider that this may be one of "our" ducks, but there is an entire flock in the farmer's mill pond, so it must be one of those, and I haven't seen ours for a while.

Worry is endemic.

Today, with lots of clouds, I'll introduce the wintered-over geraniums to the outdoors. Into the sun gradually. Other houseplants on front porch. They do like it.

Sone Thoughts of the Cow Culture

Iris's tiny baby is so small I wonder if it wasn't born a bit early. She acted so weird after it was born. Off sulking in the trees leaving the newborn alone in the pasture.

The breakup of the little herd must have been traumatic. Maggie's five month old calf was sold down the river, so to speak. The brown cow and her calf are both gone, as is the poor young bull that none of them liked. Iris's old calf is gone. Maybe she misses it. She was always such a good mom with the first one. I'm wondering if the half-grown black calf is perhaps a bull. He ? has cute little horns.

Meanwhile, there's hardly any cars at the farm house, and the windows are dark at night. The kids don't get on the school bus, so I'm wondering if some human trauma is at play. God, there's nothing like a writer's overactive imagination to start me stewing. I always have people at death's door or some great crisis when there is an easy logical explanation.

But I feel sorry for the cows. A herd that small is a self-contained unit, and losing 5 members must cause a certain amount of bovine anguish.

Can you invent something to worry about?

We've off to Montreal, the Paris of the north to see the big Cuban art exhibit at the Montreal Fine Arts Museum. I have been looking forward to this for sooooo lonnnnng. Something different for Memorial Day. We usually visit burying grounds.

The cats freaked when the suitcases appeared. I told them it's only for 2 1/2 days, but how do you explain "time" to a cat? Or a cow?

Be kind to your fellow creatures.

Grapeshot

The Salt of the Earth and other preoccupations

A few of my mother's salt cellar's. Pretty, aren't they? I wonder if Proust used the Limoges ones for his boeuf a la mode.

This week I bit hard on the bullet and pulled out all the leaves in our dining room table and unpacked my Mom’s collection of salt cellars AKA salt dips. 134 china, glass, silver, and what have you. They’ve been in boxes. Sold some when we moved, and now it’s time for the rest to go. I catalogued and photographed everything, documented to within a gnat’s bristle. Now packed up and ready to go off to the auction house along with a few prints and paintings and more cool that was also confined to boxes.

I also began printing Festival Madness in 100 page chunks, and imagine my horror—no, you cannot, when I discovered, 2/3 of the way thru the story, 75 pages of pure dull. So we are working on that, the editorial we, of course, we the writer. Arrrrgh!

This weekend we dart off to Montreal to see the cool Cuban exhibit at the Art Museum and pig out on French food. In other words, live the good life.

Busy as the busy little bee, that’s how doth. Prepping to bake two loaves of bread. Put up the hummingbird feeder. The Canada Geese and the White Geese who inhabit Glue Factory Pond (not too scenic a name for such a nice pond) all have babies, so we keep cracked corn in the car for drive-by feeding. No sign of baby ducks in the slough, but soon. . . . I am on a baby craze: calves, ducklings, geese and what have you.

Off to bake bread. And to create some excitement in those 75 pages. Which task will be easier?

More Cow News:

The little herd as been thinned, as we expected, but a quick count yesterday evening confused me. The two infants are there, naturally, with their moms, and Maggie is there, and the black calf and his mom Crooked Horn are there. Is that it? Don’t think I counted more. That means one cow, the bull and two of last fall’s babies are gone as well as Maggie’s December baby. Is this possible? More anon. I feel so possessive of these cows.

Frisky Scottish Highland Calf

This one was born a few weeks ago and is very independent and full of glad animal spirits.

Yet Another New Calf

For some reason, mostly because the bull was gone, I had resigned myself to a season of no calves. Well, the bull was busy before he left. First came Mary Ann's calf, brown and adorable. Old Maggie still had her Christmas calf who hadn't lost his babyish ways.

The women in my family will always find something to worry about, and they'll do the worrying for others if need be. Yesterday, ye gods, there was a little dark brown blob in the pasture off my itself. Could it be?

Another new calf. Lying very still with no mother in sight. Oh dear! The calf flicked at ear. Alive, at least. Where was the mother. Iris was off in the woods away from the little herd. Why was she in such an odd place? Alone?

Had the mother rejected the calf? Was the calf deformed, dying, unable to nurse? Worry genes revving up. Finally, after dinner I could stand it no more. "We've got to go see about the calf."

Drove over. Calf not in lie-down spot. Iris nursing calf. A huge sigh of relief.

Still pondering about Iris' desertion. A rough birth and she just had to recover a while? Waiting for calf to stand? Had she washed it? Yes, from the looks of things. Iris was a new mother last summer and did a credible job with her blond baby.

Will there be yet a third calf from the black cow with crooked horns? For the five years in which we've lived here, this is the first time the calves have been born in the spring.

If I can get photos, I'll post them tomorrow. In the meantime, mooooo.

A new calf

Most unexpectedly (for me) one of the Highland Scottish Cows bore a calf today. This is (I think) Mary Ann, who has a half-grown calf that is ailing. He lies in the pasture all day and flicks his ears. The poor little thing must have ear mites or worse. wish the farmer would take action and do something and am debating stopping by and mentioning same. Nothing like a nosy busybody, is there?

The calf with the ear problem is lying on the right, and the brand new calf is a darker brown and lying with his/her mother licking him. Cow mothers are very attentive, at least for a while. We fed them scraps today, and Maggie's baby will eat out of my hand which is unusual for the calves who tend to be more skittish.

The pair of ducks seems to be nesting close by us in the slough. The big obnoxious black birds appeared a few days ago and ate all the suet, even the suet in the feeder for small birds. Their beaks are so long they can reach in and eat it. Major bummer. Do not like those birds.

I had to refill the thistle seed yesterday, and noticed the trillium is blooming, and about 30 solomon's seals are coming up. Bleeding heart is also abloom, and some of the wildflowers look healthy, but the creeping phlox is a train wreck. Spare and no blooms. My heath really looks good. Maybe photos tomorrow.

I would ordinarily be arriving in Gerlach, Nevada right now, had the fates so decreed. Instead I'm leaving Thursday and coming back on Tuesday for a much shortened trip, and the fun stuff like Soldier Meadow and Squaw Reservoir will be what doesn't get done. So it goes, in the words of the immortal Vonnegut.

The Corrections just blew me away. I finished it last night and haven't read such a tour de force since The Poisonwood Bible. God what a joy a long novel that's really fun to read can be. One of life's great pleasure. Hallie Ephron has a new book out: 1001 Books for Every Mood: A Bibliophile's Guide to Unwinding, Misbehaving, Forgiving, Celebrating, Commiserating (and I'm looking forward to getting some good suggestions from that. There must be delights of good reading I probably overlooked or was never assigned. Just like Sinclair Lewis's Oil, also a great novel. I've had a good reading spring and late winter.

Submitted a short story to Glimmer Train and an agent wanted 3 chapters of Festival Madness. No great hopes, because I don't think FM is going to be her thing, but I'm sending them anyway.

Maybe if she likes it, she'll recommend another agent. I have the feeling it's more of a man's book. Crazy, huh?

Onward,

Grapeshot

The Race is to the Swift

Flying home from Florida, I read the March Delta SKY magazine. Oh cool, a short story contest. Theme must be something GREEN. I remember a very cute story about an old turtle and a baby hippo--one could turn that into something green.

Found the clipping today. Looked promising. Did a big of Googling. Oops! Someone already wrote a children's book and a movie script and I am left sucking hind teat, so to speak. Wonder what else in my clipping file has been used.

I daresay you know the moral. Don't sit on good material forever. Can I think up another "Green" story? Maybe. Maybe not. Something, like a fable with my sweet Scottish Highland cattle? Maybe. Should they talk? Just mooo, I think.

So, remember that someone else may be making soup from a nail and you better get the rust off your own nail and start simmering that pot.


Grapeshot

Year of the Rat

Horrible forecast for this evening's weather, and we were supposed to go to the New England Mystery Writer's meeting. The scheduled speaker was a PI, so it disappointing when stuff is cancelled.

I moved up our Chinese New Year dinner. Orange chicken, I think it's called. Every Chinese New Year we celebrate with a home-cooked feast. Always something yummy. I'm also sauteing pea pods and making a salad with the orange that will be left after the rind is used. And rice of course. Basmati, not Chinese, but who cares?

Sometimes we eat with chopsticks. When my kids were little, they would ask what the writing on the chop sticks meant. We always told them, "it says 'shut up and eat,'" which they believed. I suspect that I was not the kind of mother that will ever go down in history as the greatest. Hated car pools, and didn't much like birthday parties, after a bunch of 7 year old boys spent the greater part of the party on the floor wrestling. Having little kids is stressful, and it's 24/7, plus you can't turn off the beeper. Nope.

Back to Chinese food. Article in NY Times (I think) this week about how none of it is authentic, and I have known people to return from China and say the food was awful, so it's hard to know what' to believe, but the best Chinese meal I ever ate was in New York's Chinatown with someone who knows his Asian food and it was totally wonderful.

We have noticed that in Boston you can't get decent egg rolls, whereas every store front in Chicago had them. The worst I ever ate were homemade. One of life's mysteries. But I'm hoping the orange chicken, which I suspect is not authentic will be tasty. Tastes good and not too many calories and doesn't take all day to make is ideal. My aims are modest.

Since I first went to school and ate the school lunches that were usually yucko, I've liked a macaroni casserole made with ground beef, tomatoes and elbow pasta. When we came to Boston, I discovered they called it "American Chop Suey," which I had never heard of, but now it has a name. A pound of ground beef feeds us for 3 nights, and it's tasty with parmesan cheese and some red pepper flakes for zing. Comfort food.

Enough rambling. Time to do some writing. And then it's off to feed the cows before the storm hits. I think they are starting to accept the new young bull that appeared in place of the sweet faced young bull who sired all the current babies. So far he has kind of been taurus-non-grata with them. Cow culture is hard to understand. But isn't that also the case with our own culture?

Alors,

Grapeshot