Secondborn commented that she’s glad that I don’t have any roosters. Me, too. When I finally had had enough of Cole [or maybe Coal; we had bought him from a neighbor, and I never asked] terrorizing our girls, I insisted that their father wring his neck. The rooster’s; not his own. Neither he nor the rooster was very happy with me about that. Especially since it took half a day to get him plucked.
We were about as country as "Green Acres" or "Good Neighbors". My gram probably could have dispatched that rooster in thirty seconds and plucked him in 15 minutes. When he was well and truly dead, we put him in my big two-gallon stock pot and covered him with water and simmered him for two full days. He never did get tender. Firstborn and Secondborn, while much relieved to have their nemesis on their plates, declined seconds or any subsequent helpings, and Cole/Cole ended up at the bottom of the compost pile and good riddance.
I suppose that the time will come when I am lonely for male companionship, but right now I have way too much to do, to worry about that. There are books to stow and walls to paint and gardens to plant, and sweaters to knit, and trains to ride, and duties to perform. So, no rooster for me, at least for now.
Yesterday afternoon I had a serious craving for fresh fruit. Instead of coming straight home after leaving the station, I drove to the next exit and proved to myself that it is possible to spend less than $100 at Central Market.
$5.41, which is one for the Guinness Book of World Records. And it’s two days before payday [which is a day early this week, because of the Fourth], and I still have money in my checking account!
While we are on the topic of miracles, I have somehow managed to lose eight pounds since the last time I hopped on the scale. I attribute this to walking from the office to the train station five days a week, carrying a bag in each hand with a total average weight of 13 pounds. [I could have sworn those bags were 20 pounds each!] I would rather walk four blocks and switch bags from one hand to the other at the end of every block, than sit in a gym and push the machines around. Or let the machines push me around, which is more like it.
I think it is also attributable to the fact that for the past couple of weeks, while I have certainly had sufficient cash for milk and salad fixings and the occasional pint of ice cream, I have basically been rotating my food storage so that when I go grocery shopping Thursday night, there will be a place to *put* everything. Plus, it gives me a ridiculous amount of satisfaction to eat a meal based on pasta that I purchased with 2002 dollars.
When I came home from church on Sunday afternoon, I could still smell the Texmati rice I had cooked for lunch, plus all the lovely aromas emanating from the crock-pot. And I have leftovers enough to last most of the week, if I don’t feel like cooking until the weekend.
Also, because I am catching the train in Fort Worth, rather than driving in to pick up boxes for the move, there has been no stopping for lovely hash browns two or three mornings a week.
Here is a list of healthy snacks to print off. And if you will all excuse me, there are some strawberries calling my name...
- Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!