Oh well, it’s a nice change from the voice in my head that too often says, “You’re such a loser!”, or “Are you ever clumsy.”, or “Not good enough.”.
I don’t like to be mean or ornery, but sometimes it’s just called for. This afternoon, while I was processing garden produce in the kitchen, an older white pickup pulled into the driveway. The vehicle was not familiar. That is, this wasn’t anyone I expected to see today.
A decrepit older man (perhaps only a tad older ‘n me) got out, and with the aid of his cane, made his way a few steps toward the house as I stood at the back door. He was carrying papers, magazines and folders of a kind in his free hand.
I thought that he was selling religion. In my best pleasant-but-assertive voice, I called out, “You can stop right there until you tell me what you’re here for.” He was on a quest to secure subscriptions to, and advertising for, a rural buy & sell magazine. By this time I remembered his first sales attempt, long ago. I told him that we didn’t need any farm equipment, livestock or even dogs. We didn’t need to advertise, I said. So then the poor old fella with the appalling toupee sealed his fate by saying, “Oh, yeah, I imagine your business is only local anyway…”. I told him that he was incorrect, but he realized I was a “No Sale” at this point. So he handed me last winter’s edition of this magazine, and I thanked him and went into the house.
I felt a bit sorry that it was difficult for this gent to get around, and thought that if only more people would subscribe or advertise, he could afford a hairpiece that didn’t look like the dusty old pelt I shave off a neglected barn cat. Sorry I don’t have a picture. 😉
This week, I have watched a few episodes of “You Gotta Eat Here!”, and other shows on the Food Network. I wanted to experiment with delicious things to cook for my Gary, and I bought a good-sized rack of pork ribs at the grocers yesterday.
After brining the meat overnight, I carefully smoked it in my new (used) smoker and then put the pieces on the preheated new barbecue. I turned the heat down and envisioned the slow cooked ribs at supper time, with the meat falling off the bone. Then I got busy and didn’t check for an hour, and even on the lowest setting, the heat had risen to about kiln temperature, blackening the meat. After that, I left the lid up, and brushed the ribs with bourbon barbecue sauce that I had lovingly simmered earlier. Yes, I made the sauce without a recipe, but with the same exuberance that the chefs on TV use. Nothing wrong with that sauce, but I don’t think it will rehydrate or tenderize those ribs.
The yard smells heavenly, and I’m also roasting root vegetables and garlic. This makes me a bitch for the second time today: my poor doggy guests are all lined up at their gates, happy for my company and some kind words, but salivating in (futile) anticipation of a big meat meal. I think I will make burned rib broth to pour over their kibble.
As usual, Sunday brunch in town was great. After, I went to a moving sale and found just a couple of office supply items. I don’t need anything, really, including collectibles or antiques of value… I have to get rid of stuff of my own.
One yard sale I went to yesterday had some very lovely items, many marked “SOLD” already; things were pricey. There were many kitchen/culinary/bistro gadgets, tableware and even food, but not many things were bargains. Another sale was held in the garage of an elderly lady whose cheese seems to have slid off her cracker, but I found a plain white Fire King bowl that I will treasure … for $2.
Gary phoned from Manitoba; he had a marvelous time at a camp reunion, seeing friends he hadn’t seen for decades and visiting with others with whom he has kept in touch. It will be a few days yet before he gets home, and though I miss him, I am faring very well.
The evening is still young, so I’m going back out to putter in the garden for awhile.
Love you for reading my blog!