A long time ago a Popsicle cost 5 cents and gas is 27 cents a gallon during price wars. Gas stations are called filling stations and someone would come out and ask if you wanted your oil checked. It didn't cost you a buck to have your windshield cleaned by a vagrant with a greasy rag(remember then?) About that time, I regularly e-mailed the town clerk tidbits of trite information just like this post. She was the friend of a friend.
So I begin by telling her about a dream of mine. I was kissing Marilyn Monroe. "I'M NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR DREAMS," she replied. I never got to the point of the e-mail which, if it were a blog post, it would be titled, No Big Deal , because that's what it was. I was so surprised that a huge sex symbol like Marilyn Monroe would be a so-so kisser. There's probably deep down psycho-babble meaning here.
Recently I dreamed I was licked in the face by a comely woman. When I was a kid, I'd surprise Auntie Irma who'd bend over to pinch my cheek and give me a smooch by giving her a huge slurpy lick. That'll teach her to pinch my cheek.
The cartoon balloon over my head in the dream says, "In all my eighty years, I've never been licked!" Eighty years? I may be older, but I can assure you I haven't reached that golden age. When you awaken you tell yourself you should write that one down, but you don't. Musing the dream over breakfast, I decide I must stop letting Mandy Mae, my dog, lick my face. It's causing me nightmares.
Dawn calls me yestewrday afternoon to tell me the blood test results came back positive for Lyme disease. First the dog and now my wife. My first thought? Is it catching. I'm waiting for the doctor to call back. Nights in front of the tube, Dawn positions a hoist over my recliner so that she can extract me so I can take the dog out before bed. I don't sit on the couch anymore because it's so soft, it swallows you up. Dawn has to prop her feet against my behind and give me a good push to get me up. I rationalize it's due to all the field work.It may be Lyme disease.
I got my peas in yesterday. I planted three varieties of spinach. Tyee, Baby Leaf hybrid and Bloomsdale long standing are sleeping snugly in 24 foot long rows each. On either side of a 16 foot long cattle panel are edible podded peas and snow peas. We're in the first quarter leading up to a full moon. Mother Nature's on the opposing team so I have to balance weather events against the moon signs. The Amish act as sideline coaches when I do not have enough information. Spuds ( two 80 foot plots) and two onion plots are next. I'm saving eggshells for the bottom of the holes of the 20 tomato plants I put in the ground.
The good news is that spud production is now totally organic . My seed potatoes last year weren't organic. I am not independently wealthy to afford the organic variety of seed potatoes. This year I have a good supply of my own organically raised potatoes to plant a field that could supply a small village.More good news. The recent 80 degree weather over the weekend that caused a spate of broken tree limbs and razor sharp, flying tin carpets I used to cover a woodpile have caused only a minor amount of spud sprouting in the dark reaches of the summer kitchen. Goes to show that one does not need a heavy chemical dose of growth retardant on potatoes. The russet were harvested last August. Count on your fingers- Sept. Oct. Nov. Dec. Jan. Feb. March April- 8 months and they're still good. The secret? Storage temperature. Most of the fall and winter they were kept just above freezing in the summer kitchen, in total darkness, unwashed. Optimally the humidity should be 90%.
A Barrel of Gaffes
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