What's the Kid Up To?

Out here in the sticks, there's not much reason to wear a necktie. Bob was on his way to an Oscar party, though and had forgotten how to do a necktie. (In 4-H he had a clip-on.)

So he got on the internet and figured it out.

Hating California

In a recent poll, it was discovered that the most disliked state (by others in the U.S.) is California. I think this is great if it keeps people outta here. Some of the local newscasters surmised that California is unpopular because other people are jealous of our weather.

Here's another reason people might be jealous - we produce some darn good food.

Just bought these 2 days ago.

And maybe we can keep doing that if you all stay right where you were born instead of loading up and heading for California. Yes, the weather is good here. But you're going to pay a lot to live here, probably in a crummy little place that isn't half as nice as where you are. In the summer that nice weather turns hot and it will cost you a lot for air conditioning.

Our unemployment is as high or higher than anywhere else in the U.S. We have few "career" jobs anymore, outside of entertainment and the computer world. Even government jobs have gotten scarce and the politicians are taking great glee in cutting government pensions and benefits (except for their own, of course). So who wants to put up with being a "state flake" for 30 years if there's no pot of bronze (it never really was gold, or even silver) at the end of the rainbow?

Our taxes are high. Our gas prices are high. Our traffic is terrible and the roads are getting worse. The edbiz here is neither supportive of teachers nor students.

But if you really love fresh strawberries and other fruit and vegetables, I guess you don't have a choice.

Big Yum

Illiteracy

Vice: a bad habit, a moral blemish, depravity (or second-in-charge - as in vice president).

Vise: a clamping device.

So, what do the manufacturers expect people will do on this table?

I guess proofreaders are no longer considered a necessity. It's even more amusing when you see the little flag and "Made in USA." You could expect this sort of error from people speaking English as a second language. Nice to know we our illiterates are homegrown, let's keep those jobs at home.

Gotcha!

Baby Bernard's Bare Bottom

You didn't really think an English gentleman would be sending naked pictures of himself through the mail, did you? You should know better. They use cell phones for that these days.

Box of Surprises

Uncle Bernard and I have come up with a really fun thing to do — mail goodies across the ocean. Back before Christmas I discovered that I could buy a box at the post office for a set price, then stuff it with whatever (legal) things I wanted and it would be delivered in 5 days. I made cookies and sent them to Uncle B in England and they all arrived intact. This is in contrast to the regular mail, which I was told could take months and still not be delivered, but returned in a mashed-up, crumb-y mess. So I was quite happy with the special delivery mail. 

Uncle B found that DHL offers the same sort of service. A couple of weeks ago he emailed that a box would be arriving on my doorstep any time. And so it did, just a few hours later. I didn't even have time to check the tracking information.

What sort of stuff would you send to a blog pal across the ocean? The possibilities are endless for someone who is observant and creative like Uncle B.

I love useful things with chickens on them. There was a plastic sign that I should have put on the mutt pen because one of the roosters has turned mean (glad I didn't send him to you, Linda), but decided the wall inside the house was a better place for it. There was a beautiful card with a rooster painting on it. This tickled me because there was nothing written inside the card, so I can use it if I want to. Aunt Bea gives people birthday and Christmas cards like this, so they can be reused. She is so practical. And there was an oven mitt thing with chickens on it. That's hanging on the front of my oven now.

There were 3 cookbooks. I have tried a couple of the biscuit recipes and they were good. Bob has perused all the books and got some ideas. The Cornish recipes are especially fun because both of Bob's great-grandfathers on his dad's side of the family are from Cornwall. (Tina and Beverly, John has this book right now but when he returns it I'll copy the pages for you.)

Uncle B asked if the cookies arrived intact. Yes! Everything did. I tried a bit of everything, but Bob did the gobbling. He liked the cookies (was there ever a cookie a guy didn't like?), said the Marmite rice cakes were weird (but ate them anyway) and we both liked the Mint Cake package better than the actual product (very sweet).

There were lots of other little treasures in the box, a calendar with scenes from Buckinghamshire, a small book of Tales of Mystery & Murder from Buckinghamshire, and a small book about life in Cornwall 100 years ago. These are things we can't get here in California. If I were going to send things from here that would tell others about life in California, it would be stories from the gold rush or about the Spanish missions, or about the Indians. There are small books like that in most of the antique stores in the gold country. 

There was something for Velcro and Gollie in the box, recommended by Uncle B's cat Wesley.

The cat on the package pretty much looks like Velcro. She loves these things. Thank you, Wesley.

There was a can of Cornish Pilchard fillets. Uncle B said the picture on the front was his favorite part. Bob hasn't eaten these yet, but he grew up taking sardines to school in his lunchbox. 

I think he probably did that to gross out the little girls, but he learned to like sardines as a side benefit. Or maybe that's in the Cornish part of his blood.

Two of my favorite things in the box were this little stuffed monkey (Uncle B is an organ grinder) and a refrigerator magnet that pretty much reflects my philosophy of life.

There was one more thing. Uncle B had sent me a handmade card when I retired last June. It came in a small box that was about the size of a 5x8 photo. Before I opened it, Bob remarked that it was probably a nude picture of my blog friend. So this time I got the real thing. Show it to you tomorrow, once I investigate the rules about posting nude photos on the internet.

Working Out of the Funk

Beverly emailed to find out if I was okay; if I'd been on vacation, just WHAT is going on and why haven't I been writing? Partly it's that time of year. It's hard to find inspiration at the end of winter, even though we haven't had much of a winter here in Central California. My days were spent keeping the woodbox full and the house warm.

It's also the time of year when we have to think about taxes. I do not like thinking about taxes. I absolutely hate that the clowns in Washington come tramping into my house once a year, figuring out ways to confiscate half of what I've worked for. And in this election year, it's even more evident that the people in Congress are incompetent boobs who are incapable of handling their own money, let alone mine. What a bunch of obsolete old farts, ignoring our pathetic economy and spending all their time worrying about whether or not women should have access to birth control. I say ladies, let's cut them all off. That's the best form of birth control. They can spend their time screwing each other, literally and figuratively.

This year I've also had to take time to fill out a bunch of invasive forms for the divorce. This is not anything John and I need, we've talked about everything and have figured out amicable solutions. These are required forms so that lawyers and other bloodsuckers can figure out how much money they can siphon off of an unfortunate circumstances. (I didn't say I'd succeeded in working my way entirely out of the winter funk, so you'll still hear a few unkind words.)

But it's not all been drudgery. Some high points that I'll be writing about:

One day, out of the blue, I got a box of neat stuff from Uncle Bernard in England. What a ray of sunshine!

I've been to two baby showers. These aren't my favorite form of entertainment, I really suck at shower games. But in this case I wouldn't have missed them. The first was for someone I worked with for several years at SCOE. He and his wonderful wife will be great parents.

The second shower was for my "niece" Jen and her husband Jaime.

Babies are scarce on the Blawat side of the family, so they are warmly welcomed. This little boy is due very close to my birthday. He already has a Star Wars quilt and a toy John Deere tractor, what more could he need? Babies are so much fun.

At the first shower I got to see many of my former SCOE workmates. Two of them, Alice and Marvi, invited me to join them at water aerobics. Sigh. That would disturb my daily schedule, which consists of getting up in the morning, feeding animals, making a pot of coffee, starting a fire in the stove, then sitting at my computer drinking the coffee whilst reading everyone else's blog. Yes, it's a rut, but it's my own little comfortable rut.

I went to visit the water aerobics at Gold River Racquet Club, though. I'd thought of several legitimate reasons why I couldn't participate, but wanted to thank Alice and Marvi for thinking to include me. My first reason was I hadn't been swimming for at least 30 years. I didn't even own a bathing suit, and where would you buy one in February? The only type I could envision wearing would be something with pantaloons.

I never got a chance to say any of this. After I'd watched the class, I went right to the office and signed up.

So, five days a week I've been getting up early in the morning, squeezing into a pair of shorts with a t-shirt over the top, walking right past the amazed animals, and driving the 12 or so miles to the Racquet Club. (The animals get fed when I get home, which is about the same time they'd be fed anyway.)

One morning I got up extra early to try to join Alice and Marvi swimming laps before the class. They're very competitive. It occurred to me that I was recruited because they knew they could beat me. As I suspected, I can't really swim anymore. My shoulders just don't work right. I can sort of float on my back and kick my way along. It's a strange experience for someone who used to be able to swim quite well, similar to falling off my bicycle and not even being able to work with the horses from the ground. Today I'm going at noon for a special Pilates class for old decrepit people.

One more thing I've done in the past month. I auditioned Augie.

She's a 4 year old cattle dog who belongs to a local cowlady. Augie is Border Collie and McNabb. She doesn't like to chase cows, though, she likes to ride in the front of the car, not the back of a truck, and she really wants to be a lap dog. Her owner, Anne, brought her over. I really, really, like this dog. I have a lot of work to do on my fence, though. And I'm not sure I'd be a good dog owner yet. You can't just turn a dog loose here to run, the highway is too close. When we had dogs before, I either walked them around the field every day, or they followed my horse or my bike. Anne still needs to find a home for Augie. She's good with kids, didn't pay any attention to my chickens or the cats (though the cats totally freaked and disappeared for a couple of days after the dog was in the house).

So see, life has gone on. I've been there physically, but not mentally. Sometimes it's safer to just stay in a fog until things sort themselves out.

Working on my Attitude

I used to be able to do everything for myself - fix my car, shoe my horse, build things. Now I have to sit around and wait for someone I've either hired or asked to do things for me. I can convince myself to be patient if I deactivate about half my neurons and adopt a mental state where I just don't care. But it's too hard to discriminate, so if I don't care about a couple of things, I don't care about anything.

Wake up before noon? Why? Comb my hair? Why? One day is pretty much like any other when you've shifted into neutral and aren't getting anything accomplished.

I'm not depressed, no need to worry. But probably one day, and probably soon, I will no longer be able to maintain this slothful state. No animals will be harmed.

Scene of Destruction

The front of my house has been the scene of a quiet war, which I am only aware of when there is a muffled bump in the afternoon. The score as it stands is:

Window - 3;

Sparrows - 0.

I've never noticed this phenomenon before. It must be the angle of the sun, and the fact that unlike most years we've had lots of sunny days at the time of year when male birds are trying to establish their territory by chasing off the competition.

Maybe I need to wash the windows.

Green Olives and Red Walnuts

When Katherine and I left the Red Bluff Bull and Gelding Sale a couple of weeks ago, we stopped in a small town off I-5 named Corning. It calls itself the olive capital of California, or maybe of the world. We went to The Olive Pit. I was looking for olives and olive oil. Katherine was looking for a peppermint milkshake at the restaurant there.

Did you know there are several different types of olives? I didn't, I guess I'd never paid much attention. Olives don't last very long in this house.

Outside the building there were several young olive trees in planters, with their names on plaques.

I like things like this. It's knowledge I could use to impress others, if only I could remember it. Olive names are foreign: manzanilla, picholine, kalamata, niçoise, liguria, ponentine, gaeta, lugano, sevillano and Mission. Sevillano is the only California-created variety. The rest are Italian, Spanish, French or Greek.

I bought a nice collection of olives and oils.

The Sicilian Style are for Carlotta, unless Bob gets to them before I can give them to her. Mediterranean Style were the only black olives available. I got the Green Pitted Queen olives for me, because I am, after all, the queen. I use walnut oil for baking instead of vegetable oil, and the Rosemary Flavored olive oil is great on roasted vegetables. Many of the olives at The Olive Pit are stuffed with things: garlic, peppers, almonds, and even some weird things I'd never think to poke into an olive. I don't really like surprises in my olives.

There are also a lot of nuts grown in the Corning area, like almonds and walnuts. I bought a small bag of almonds. And look what else I found - red walnuts! Have you ever heard of these?

Me neither.

They looked really interesting on the label, but didn't quite live up to the picture above. The red part is just the skin, and when walnuts are handled they are beaten up just enough that the skin is splotchy. So mine looked like this:

California walnuts - the regular ones - account for 99% of the crop in the United States, and 75% of the world's supply. Red walnuts are considerably more expensive at this point than the plain walnuts because they're rare and because they have to be hand-processed to avoid messing up the red skin. These were invented at UC Davis. They are not genetically modified, so that red color didn't come from a crab's gene or somewhere. They were created using natural methods of grafting Persian red-skinned walnuts onto the larger and creamier English walnuts. (This paragraph was mostly taken from the Sanguinetti web site.)

At The Olive Pit, I had a hard time finding anyone who worked at the store who could actually tell me anything about these nuts, I had to wait until I got home and looked it up on the internet. One girl at the store thought perhaps red walnuts were less acidic, and maybe people who are allergic to regular walnuts could eat them. I don't think so.

The small bag that I bought was okay, but a little dusty, like it was left over from last season. I'd like to taste some fresh red walnuts. You can order them online if you're curious.